Pandemic Ponderings: More of Us

Armed protestors storming the Michigan statehouse. Federal forces seizing shipments of medical equipment from states and counties. Wisconsin citizens being forced to attend polls in person despite the huge risk to their health. States being told that they won't receive help but should instead "file for bankruptcy." The president actually encouraging insurrection. Defunding WHO and coronavirus research teams. Blaming China, Obama, Biden, WHO, Democrats -- anyone he possibly can for the troubled state our nation is in -- instead of admitting he made BIG mistakes. And all the while, removing well-qualified career officials and installing loyalist cronies instead, as well as packing the courts with as many judges who believe in the unitary executive theory as possible, and really only caring about his re-election efforts, not the people he represents and swore to protect and serve.

I've heard a lot of friends say that they're severely reducing the amount of news they watch. I've also seen a lot of folks quote from Fox News, as if it's a news station (it's not). I've heard people echo the gaslighting propaganda that has marked this presidency since its beginning, and as much as I worry that we're not thinking enough about other countries whose people are suffering more from the virus and economic disaster than even we are, I also believe that in many ways we need to think more of us. We need to be careful to not turn off the news, but to stay aware of underlying currents that have been directing our country for decades and are now using this pandemic to put the final nails in the coffin of our democracy.

For the past few months, I've been reading daily letters by history professor and author Heather Cox Richardson. Because she's a historian, she looks more at the big picture than journalists do. She's not out to get elected. She's not tied to a certain politician. She's not looking for money or fame. She daily reads a lot of news, knowing where to look and what trends in history to link to, and then puts together essays that synthesize current events with her great store of knowledge. She's especially good at picking up on "smaller" news items that get lost in the fray and then revealing why they're not actually so small after all.

I am deeply afraid for my country. I'm afraid for the way minorities are being so much harder hit by this pandemic than other people groups, and I'm afraid for the way leaders actually imply that this is okay. I'm afraid for the integrity of our government who seems to be getting away with all kinds of rule breaking and general dishonesty and gaslighting, and I'm afraid for the ends Republicans will go to to stay in power. I'm afraid for our environment, whose protections get continually rolled back by the current administration, and I'm afraid for the future of scientific inquiry and medical excellence when conspiracy theories abound and science is denigrated and defunded.

My teens all want to leave this place. They're ready to emigrate tomorrow, if the opportunity arose. They're ready to leave what they know and love here because of disgust with their leaders and fear for the future of America. I tell them that other places have their own problems, and that nowhere is perfect. But that doesn't mean that America is better than other places, or that our problems aren't worth moving for. I wouldn't blame them at all if they left. I feel like leaving myself.

Pandemic Ponderings: Homeschooling Empathy

This time when schools have been closed and people have been working from home has been a gift to our homeschooling family in some unusual ways. After years of feeling so different and so little understood, now a majority of our friends are at home as much as we typically are, and finally seeing what it's like -- both the good and the hard.

It's interesting to hear others now speak of the great benefits of our normal lifestyle. They find the unrushed mornings a Godsend; they rave about the change from harried busyness to slowing down and doing things with their kids. They mention how nice it is to wear elastic-banded pants and not feel pressured about hair and make-up. They notice reduced commute times and increased family time. They bake and cook more from scratch, often out of necessity, but surely enjoying the fact that unrushed home-cooked food is often tastier than the alternatives. They've breathed great sighs of relief as they've spent more time outside and gone for family walks. They've even seemed to notice that yes, indeed, kids do grow and learn without constant adult oversight, especially without sitting-still-desk-work.

Can I just say how refreshing it is to finally hear people acknowledge and enjoy many of the reasons we love homeschooling? My teens love hearing from their friends, statements like, "Hey! It's fun doing school on my bed!" and "I didn't even get dressed til afternoon yesterday!" I love hearing people close to me say how much they like being with their kids all day. Even an article in Christianity Today had the writer admitting that she doesn't want to go back to "the way things were." Given this extended change of pace, she realizes how unhealthy and unhappy her previous harried existence was.

However it's not all cheery warm fuzzies, is it? I've also found it affirming and relieving to hear others finally get how HARD this lifestyle is. Admittedly it's a little difficult for me to feel sorry for folks when this has been my struggle for so many years. When I hear spouses moan about having their partner working from home all day every day, for just a few weeks, I want to scream, "This has been my life for the past six years!!"

Ever since my husband began his PhD program (and actually for a number of years before that, just not all consecutively), he has had nowhere he must be every day. He's had plenty of work, of course, but he's been in our home for much of the time. In fact, once his classes ended 4 years ago and the priority became preparing for comprehensive exams, researching, and writing his dissertation, he's been in our home almost every single day. We don't have a big house (no office, no basement). We don't have a second car. We don't live in an urban enough environment to easily walk places like a library. And I'm already home all day with homeschooling kids.

It has been tough.

It may have been the toughest thing about the past few years of our family life. The finances have been hard. The uncertainty has been hard. The high pressure of metro DC living has been hard. The stress of a PhD program has been hard. But being on top of each other in a small space has been super, super hard. For him, for me, for our marriage.

I know these are first world issues. The ability to work from home and teach my children has been a privilege. The fact that I moan about having my husband at home is also a sign of privilege. But it's my life. It's my joy and my pain. And now that the country is under "lockdown," I don't feel quite so alone.

Alone

So many ideas I once thought obvious, I once held as indisputable, have begun to make no sense to me. For decades, I listened and believed, listened and believed, thought and believed. And now I don't even know what I believe. The dots used to all connect but now they're scrambled, and I'm trying to see if I can untangle the lines.

I'm going it alone.

My questions are so fundamental, my struggles so deep, my foundation so cracking, that I can turn to no one. I would be seen as an aberration to anyone who's known me, if they heard my heart cries. I don't know how this will turn out. I don't know if I'll find the answers I need. I don't know what I will believe, or if anyone will love me no matter what.

It's a scary place to be. 

Nothing

Death and darkness
   overwhelm me
Pressed down
   pushed
      suffocated
I sink
   into
      the abyss

Twenty years
   of nothing
Twenty years
   of waste
Everything I held dear
   every goal I had
      every dream
Smashed in pieces

I am nothing --
   No, worse than nothing --
For I have taken the beautiful
    and sullied them
       destroyed them
Everything I have touched
   has failed

The abyss
   suffocates
      pushes
         pressing down
I am overwhelmed
    by death and darkness

Pandemic Ponderings: Less of Me

I've heard quite a few people talking about the positive side effects of the coronavirus lockdown. Some are grateful for a bit of rest, some are finding renewed creativity, some are seeing their kids blossom with less adult micromanagement, and many are grateful for time with family, especially to do activities they haven't done together for a while. Then there are, of course, the much-deserved praises and words of thanks being given to health workers and essential service providers. I frequently hear the rally cry to band together as humanity and work together for good. I hear the reassurance that this will not last forever and we will "win this fight."

That's all great.

But it's a very privileged view.

The facts that I still have money in the bank, food in my kitchen, gas in my car, and water and soap to wash hands show that I am part of a privileged group. But I would like to be done viewing this crisis through that lens. In fact, I've just "snoozed" a bunch of facebook groups that continuously post ideas of what to do during isolation for I realized that these just make me focus more on ME and US -- and I'm tired of it. 

I know people -- dear people -- in places like Jordan, Nigeria, and Palestine; places like my home city of Jos where the "big" hospital only has six ventilators; places like the Gaza Strip where people were already treated like prisoners with inadequate healthcare even before the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and subsequent isolation measures; places like Bethlehem that are low-income but completely dependent on tourism -- which isn't happening now or any time in the near future. When I hear that the situation in Bethlehem is dire and that Nigerian patients will just be left to die because there won't be enough ventilators, it hits me like a ton of bricks: I need to stop thinking of ME and start caring more about the "least of these." True, hardship is in some ways relative. And I do think that it's healthy for each one of us to name the ways we're under stress these days and see how we can find peace even in the lamenting. But it's also true that some hardships are just much harder than others. 

The problem with such a disaster as this, especially with it affecting the entire world pretty much at the same time, is that the tendency (and in some ways, the necessity) is to hunker down and care for our own. I ask, "Does my family have enough masks? Are we washing our hands enough? Do we have enough food?" Even, I hate to mention it, "What extra treats can I have on hand for us when we're missing family and friends?" I look at my country's statistics -- and my state's and my county's. And I would guess many do similarly. It's probably, in some ways, a survival technique. "I'm threatened so what do I need to do to make it? How do I protect my family?"

But in other ways, I'd venture to call it self-absorption and that's what I personally want to be done with. Yes, we're all suffering at the same time. Yes, our hospitals are also short on ventilators. Yes, we have the sick and dying here in America. But the danger is graver in these other places. The hospitals have much fewer resources, the people have less capital, the spaces are more crowded. I want my heart to be filled with love and concern for the least of these. I want my mind to be thinking of how to help or at least caring enough to listen. Less of me. Less of us.

Pandemic Ponderings: Surreal

From the news, the world seems to be falling apart around us. Millions of Americans have become unemployed, tens of thousands (or is it hundreds of thousands now?) have died from Covid-19, even more are at risk. Strange though it seems, it all feels surreal to my family right now. It's as if we're in a safe bubble -- at least momentarily. 

This pandemic gets compared to a war, but there are no fighter planes overhead, no bombs being dropped, no sound of gunfire. At the moment we don't know anyone ill and none of our loved ones have died. We're not in an epicenter and we have what we need. I'm not so naive to believe we'll be untouched by either disease or economic depression. It just hasn't happened yet. 

So for now, we try to get outside every decent day, often enjoying gorgeous spring blossoms and lovely birdsong. We carry on with our normal homeschool, and Steve keeps plugging away at his dissertation. We shoot baskets and play with playdough. We read aloud and play board games. We watch movies and cook dinners, just as always. For three weeks I've exercised daily by jogging in place while watching a Netflix series my sister recommended. 

Our only significant changes are worshipping at home on Sunday mornings and not being able to have friends or family round for meals and games. Steve can't escape our home chaos by studying at IKEA anymore, and I can't escape for a rare evening to a mom's night out. I shop less and think harder before I do. The girls can't play on playgrounds. But these are minor and life carries on.

I try to be grateful and peaceful, holding these gifts in open hands. I know that at any moment it could all be torn away.

Pandemic Ponderings - Personal Loss

So many people are suffering hugely because of this virus. Tens of thousands have lost loved ones. Doctors and nurses are working like mad and are under great stress. Some folks are stuck in foreign countries, other folks are "stuck" in nursing homes and unable to receive visitors. Many are at risk of losing their small businesses, and even more have been laid off or are otherwise struggling financially.

In the grand scheme of things, we're doing just fine -- for now.

Since our family homeschools and since Steve was already working from home as he's in the last stage of writing his dissertation, we've hardly had to change our normal rhythm at all. I'm used to the kids being around all day (not that I find it easy!), used to feeding 7 of us three times a day. The kids are used to reading, playing musical instruments, drawing, playing our many board games. Steve is used to writing and translating with the background noise of giggling or crying children.

Still, this is hard. We feel the pain of a few losses right now, and know that others are still to come. I'm glad we don't know the future. At the moment, we're hurting from:

• Not seeing family. My sister and her kids moved from CA to VA last summer to be near us and we've tried to get together every week or two. We can still chat by phone, but it's not the same. My kids aren't phone people -- they like to be with those they love. The boys play board games and tag and shoot baskets and play on playgrounds. The girls dance and chase and snuggle. Being apart is hard. Also Steve's parents live 3 hours from us and we were enjoying seeing them every month or two. I don't know when we'll get to visit again. 
• Not meeting with church. We just began going to Pathway Vineyard Church in September and were grateful each Sunday morning we got to worship there. It's a small church with incredibly friendly people. We miss worshiping with others. We miss the hugs. We miss seeing people who ask how we're doing and offer to pray for us. And we'd just begun hosting game nights at our house for church folks and friends. Now that's all on hold.
• Not seeing the few friends we have. For many, this is a blip in time. The need to socially distance won't last forever. But our time here is short. Our lease is up in July and we're not staying. Steve's program will be done and he'll no longer receive a student stipend. So the thought of not getting to see our dear friends during our very last few months here is quite heartbreaking. 

And in the coming months there will be more:

• Naomi not getting to have a high school graduation ceremony or party. 
• Naomi not getting to perform in the play "Matchmaker" that she has been practicing with Metropolitan School of the Arts.
• Steve's job possibilities drying up because universities are delaying their hiring.
• Steve not getting to have a graduation celebration.
• Steve's job interviews and teaching demonstrations being done remotely instead of on campus.
• Moving away from DC without getting to cram in a few months of last-minute visits to historical sites and museums. And we never did get to greet Nancy Pelosi or Adam Schiff in person and ask for their autographs as we intended.

Most of the time, I feel lucky and know I don't deserve the ease with which we're facing such a pandemic. Most of the time, I'm grateful. But our losses are real, however small they are compared to the world's, and I hope I can help my family grieve them.